


Close enough

by kardamon



Series: Barely breathing [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Aberdeen, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, coming home, hayniss - Freeform, last friend
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-10-27
Packaged: 2018-04-28 11:22:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5088848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kardamon/pseuds/kardamon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sometimes, I hate people,” Haymitch says out of the blue staring out of the window.<br/>She glances at him, not sure what prompted his sudden need to share that little tidbit.<br/>“Only sometimes?”<br/>.<br/>On the hovercraft back to Twelve after the war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close enough

**Author's Note:**

> This work is basically a continuation of my last one-shot, "One more thing" but it can be also read independently, so I'm posting it as a separate piece. It takes place on the hovercraft on the way back to Twelve after the end of the war.

“Sometimes, I hate people,” Haymitch says out of the blue staring out of the window.

She glances at him, not sure what prompted his sudden need to share that little tidbit.

“Only sometimes?” she asks without thinking, the bite of sarcasm unexpectedly feeling like the closest thing to the spark of life she’d come to in the past few weeks and she suddenly understands Haymitch just a tad bit better.

He lets out a surprised, throaty chuckle in response. She supposes that objectively it’s not a nice sound – dark and tainted with bitterness, but the sense of companionship she finds in their shared dry, twisted humor makes it strangely comforting.

“Listen,” she says before the moment dies and the numbness swallows her again. “I know you probably agreed to do to this only because no-one else did. I’m sorry you have to come with me.”

He looks up at her sharply. It startles her when she sees the stubborn set of his jaw.

“I’m not,” he almost spits.

As she comprehends what it is that he’s really telling her, it dawns on her that she is, by all means, looking at her most loyal friend, the one that sticks by her side at the end, the only one she has left.

( _and she doesn’t know if it should make her laugh or cry_ )

She stares into his tired, steely-grey eyes and she is surprised to see the level of understanding that she can find in there, lurking just beneath the surface. What surprises her even more is that it doesn’t bother her. Had it been anyone else daring to think that they could relate in any way to what had happened to her, to usurp the right to comprehend how it felt to…

She stops that train of thought before it drags her into the place that hurts more that she can withstand and shuts that door in her mind for time being.

…but it’s not just anyone. It’s Haymitch and if anybody knows their share about the pain, loss and guilt that comes with dealing with your loved ones being crushed and killed for no other reason than their connection to you, unforeseen consequences of your own desperate actions taken under the impression that they were the only possible choice at the moment; about dead siblings assassinated by soulless dictators because of something that you’ve done –

If anybody can claim that they understand how that feels like, it’s Haymitch.

But of course he doesn’t say anything like that. It’s not his way: talking. They’re not good with words, either of them.

( _Unlike someone else you once knew_ , an unwanted voice whispers inside her head before she shakes it off)

Instead she feels one of his hands brushing and then leaning against one of her own. It could be written off as an accident if not for the fact that he doesn’t break the contact. She studies him as he sits there on the bench, crouched forward with his elbows resting heavily on his knees, a metal flask in his other hand. He looks away from her and toward the window again, but he keeps his hand in place and his silent presence is so undemanding that she doesn’t pull away either. The longer they stay this way, the more obvious it becomes that it’s deliberate.

He’s not holding her hand exactly – God knows neither of them is one for that – just touching. It’s not an offer either, really. It’s not even a promise of help –

( _it’s hardly a promise at all – he knows no promises can be kept for sure_ )

\- but it’s a sign that he’s there, with her.

Maybe because it’s such a small gesture, it doesn’t feel intrusive. He doesn’t expect anything from her: not even to get better.

It’s not much.

It’s exactly what she can handle at the moment.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this work, check out my other hayniss one-shots.


End file.
